The Direction of Dreams
by sirensbane
Summary: His village burned behind him, Seth travels to the capital, hoping to make a new life for himself. How does a peasant boy become a sorcerer and trusted advisor to the king?
1. Chapter 1

"Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined."

- Henry David Thoreau

* * *

The sun beat down on the boy's head as he stumbled through the desert. What food and water he had been able to carry had run out the day before, and he had found nowhere to shelter through the day. If he lay down now, he was not sure that he would be able to rise to his feet again.

So he stumbled on. It was difficult to determine much about the boy's appearance. Sand clung to his hair and clothes, masking even his eyebrows and eyelashes in a gritty layer of dust. His clothes were faded and torn in places and his battered sandals barely protected his feet. He glanced up to search the horizon, revealing a thin, aristocratic face and deep blue eyes.

He was only twelve years old.

With a snap, one of the straps on the battered sandals finally broke. He bent down with a curse, voice slightly roughened by a peasant lilt. The sandal was ruined beyond his skill to mend. Carefully, he knotted the broken strap together. It would have to do. The boy straightened up and took a tentative step. The sandal was left behind. He stopped with another curse, and then with a sigh, kicked off the other sandal. Barefoot, he continued on.

The sand was hot under his feet. He grit his teeth and kept going, ignoring the discomfort. There! A faint smudge, barely visible in the distance. A city. Hopefully, the right one. But the desert was deceiving; it was possible that the image was nothing more than a mirage, or many days' travel away. He didn't have days. Not unless he stumbled upon an oasis soon.

Lost in his own thoughts, the boy did not hear the sound of horses until they were quite nearby. When the sound of hoofbeats finally registered, he braced himself for fight or flight, looking around, trying to pinpoint the source. To his left, he spotted two horses rapidly bearing down on him. He reached for his belt, drawing the knife that hung upon it.

With a whinny, the lead horse pulled up, flinging sand in all directions. The other horse followed suit, its rider clinging tightly to the reins as he fought to hold the spirited animal still. The man upon the first horse laughed.

"Well, what do we have here?" The boy looked up to see a sun-wrinkled face, two dark brown eyes gleaming down at him from under a crown of black hair. The man was dressed in loose-fitting robes, suitable for the desert. A well-used sword hung at his belt. His companion, who was nearly identical to the first, scowled.

"A little rock lizard."

The first man frowned. "Atsu..." he said. He nodded at the knife in the boy's hand. "I think the lizard has teeth."

"Do you accost all travelers this way?" the boy asked, drawing himself up indignantly.

The first man laughed again. "What's your name, little dragon?"

The boy stiffened. "You first," he said. "You began this encounter."

The first man gave a slight bow. "I am Akiiki. This is my brother Atsu."

"Seth," the boy said reluctantly.

"Seth," Akiiki said, sounding it out. "Where are you going, Seth?"

"The capital," Seth said. He didn't relax his grip on the knife.

Akiiki cocked his head. "That's a long way. I notice you aren't carrying any food or water." Seth was silent.

Atsu laughed. "Stupid little lizard won't live to become a big one at this rate."

"It's been a long journey," Seth couldn't resist saying. "And the oases are few."

Atsu rode forward until he was nearly on top of Seth. "Where exactly are you coming from?" he asked shrewdly.

"Tanis," Seth lied quickly. Men like these had been responsible for destroying his village. Tanis was a large city some weeks distant.

Atsu's eyes narrowed scornfully. "You walked all the way from Tanis?"

Seth lifted his head, making sure to meet Atsu's eyes directly. Atsu stared at him; Seth did not move. Finally, Atsu looked away. _He has old eyes for one so young, _he thought.

"The capital is three days from here on foot," Akiiki said, considering Seth closely. "You're going to walk the whole way without food or water?"

"I'll manage," Seth replied.

Atsu snorted. "I don't think so. Look at you; you're covered in sand, your skin's cracked, you probably haven't eaten in a long time. You won't last for a couple of hours, let alone a couple of days."

Seth gestured around with his free hand. "Do I have another choice?"

Akiiki studied him for another moment. "Can you ride a horse?"

Atsu scowled at his brother. "We're not taking him with us! Give him some water and send him on his way."

Akiiki silenced him with a look. "You want to leave a boy to die in the desert?"

"I would appreciate the water, if you can spare it" Seth interrupted. "But I don't need your charity."

"Don't be ridiculous," Atsu said with a resigned sigh. "Get on the horse."

"But…" Seth protested.

"My brother's right," Akiiki said. "We have food and water to spare. Get on the horse."

Warily, Seth approached Akiiki. The man sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you." He tapped the sword at his belt. "If I had wanted to, I would have done so long before."

With surprising agility, Seth sprang up behind Akiiki, sheathing his knife at the same time. The man twisted in his seat and handed Seth a waterskin. "Have a drink of that. At nightfall, we'll stop for dinner."

"Thank you," Seth murmured, but his words were lost as Akiiki and Atsu spurred their horses, trotting through the desert towards the smudge on the horizon.

* * *

Seth found it difficult not to stare as Atsu and Akiiki walked their horses through the gates of the capital. There was much to attract his attention. Venders cried out their wares at the top of their lungs, their shrill voices strangely accented to Seth's ears. Waves and waves of people thronged the wide streets, moving, talking, laughing, and complaining. The smell of food and sweat permeated the air, filling it with a sticky sweet odor.

Seth clung surreptitiously to Akiiki's saddle. Apparently, he wasn't discreet enough, for the man twisted in his seat to look back at his passenger.

"The city can be a little overwhelming if you're only seeing it for the first time. A bit bigger than Tanis, huh?" he added with a wink.

Seth didn't reply, focusing on keeping his mouth tightly closed.

Akiiki laughed. "Don't be shy, boy. It's alright to be impressed. After all," he said, looking at Atsu, "The Pharaoh has done a great deal to ensure that we are."

"The Pharaoh?"

"Pharaoh Aknankamon," Akiiki replied, spurring his horse through a crowd of people. They parted briefly to let him through. "A good enough king, as kings go."

At that moment, a merchant in a rich tunic embroidered with gold shoved up to Akiiki and laid a hand on the man's knee. Akiiki reined up the horse, but his expression was anything but pleasant.

"How much for the boy, Akiiki?" asked the merchant. His voice was oily and cold and Seth felt himself shiver, despite the heat of the sun. He did not like the way the man was looking at him.

"He's not for sale," Akiiki replied gruffly, trying to spur his horse past the man.

"I will pay a great deal," the merchant persisted in a low tone, tightening his grip. "With exotic looks like his…" He gazed up at Seth with open avarice.

"We told you," Atsu said, spurring his horse alongside. "He's not for sale."

"Do you intend to keep him yourselves?" the merchant demanded. "A slave is an inconvenient thing to cart between cities, Akiiki. You'd do better to sell him to me."

"I know full well what becomes of slaves in _your _house, Odji," Akiiki growled. "He's not for sale!"

"Very well," Odji said, stepping back. "But there's no other way to turn a profit on him, you know that as well as I." He disappeared into the crowd. Seth relaxed his grip on the knife at his belt.

"Be glad you didn't use that knife," Atsu told him as they continued through the city. "It is death for a peasant to attack a merchant or a noble, even for giving one so much as a scratch."

"That's not fair!" Seth protested. "He would get no punishment for hurting me."

Atsu laughed sourly. "That's the way of the world, little lizard." He hunched down a little on his horse. "Life is never fair."

Seth had just opened his mouth to frame another question when there was the sound of shouting. Fifty or so men armed with swords and with the look of soldiers were marching down the main thoroughfare, parting the people as they came. Among them, Seth caught a glimpse of a golden chair, carried on poles by four more burly guards. A canopy of white cloth arched over the chair, protecting the occupant from the hot sun.

"This day just keeps getting more and more interesting," Akiiki said, directing the horse towards the edges of the road, picking his way through the throng. "It's the prince."

_The prince! _Seth craned his neck to look at the chair as the procession passed. The prince was young, hardly more than a boy it seemed. He was also _very _short. But the rest of his appearance more than made up for his lack of height. His hair was black and red and stuck up strangely, like a star. Blonde lightning bangs hung in the prince's face, and as Seth watched he brushed them aside impatiently. He had a narrow, angular face, dominated by a pair of beautiful crimson eyes.

Seth couldn't help it. He stared. He was not aware that Akiiki and Atsu had slid from their horses until Akiiki tugged at his tunic and hissed, "Kneel!"

Startled, Seth slid quickly from the horse and knelt in the street. The prince's procession was only a few feet away. As it passed, Seth looked up. The crimson eyes swept over the crowd…and stopped. The prince stared at Seth, who stared frankly back.

"You!" shouted one of the guards. "Keep your eyes on the ground."

Seth dropped his gaze. But even with his head lowered, he could feel the curious eyes of the prince upon him all the way up the street. No one moved for a long moment after the caravan passed. Then, abruptly, the entire mass of people surged to its feet and continued about the business of living.

Seth stood more slowly, but as Akiiki reached down to pull him up on the horse again, he took a step back.

"Thank you, Akiiki, Atsu," he said. "I appreciate your kindness in aiding me. But I will make my own way from here."

"Don't be ridiculous," Atsu scoffed. "This isn't Tanis. You don't know the first thing about surviving in this city."

"I'm a little rock lizard, remember?" Seth said softly, but his lips quirked with a faint hint of a smile. "We can survive anywhere."

Before Akiiki or Atsu could say another word, Seth vanished into the crowd. Akiiki turned his horse, sparing one last glance for the place where the boy had been.

"I hope he doesn't do anything stupid," he said ruefully to Atsu.

Atsu snorted. "He's a boy. They are _fated_ to do stupid things."

"Maybe so," Akiiki conceded, spurring his mount on. "Let's hope then that he's more of a dragon then he looks."

* * *

Seth had not gone two dozen steps when he felt a hand clamp down hard on his shoulder. He gasped with pain and turned to see Odji, the merchant who had accosted them before.

"Alone at last," the man leered.

Seth had only moments to decide what to do. His knife was within reach at his belt, but he remembered Akiiki's warning that to attack a merchant meant death. If he called for help, it was probable that no one would help him for much the same reason. That left only one option: run.

He twisted futilely in Odji's grip, but the merchant had him fast. The man began to drag him towards a doorway along the street, drawing a length of stiff cord from his tunic as he did so. Pinning Seth's wrists with one hand, he began to tie the cord tightly around them. When Seth struggled, the merchant cuffed him sharply. There were hundreds of people around them, but nobody paid the scene any attention. No one came to Seth's aid.

Seth felt extraordinary anger welling up inside him. To be attacked and forced towards a life of slavery and degradation violated every human instinct he had. He glared at Odji, hating the man's oily hair and greedy smile. At that moment, what he desired more than anything else was to hurt him, _destroy_ him.

And something in him responded. A latent power he could barely sense, let alone control. If Akiiki had been nearby, he might have called it the blood of a dragon. Perhaps it might have been more accurately called Shadowmancy – the pure desire to dominate and destroy. But whatever it was, it exploded from Seth's skin with hurricane force. Odji shrieked as the hand gripping Seth's wrists started to bubble. Then suddenly Seth was free.

He did not stop to ponder what had happened, or to see the end result. He was too busy running: down a narrow side street and emerging in the heavy crowds on the other side. He could hear Odji shouting for someone to "stop that boy", but he didn't slow. In his peripheral vision, he saw a hand coming for him. He dodged nimbly and sprinted into another alley. Halfway in, he spotted a niche in the wall of one low building where the material had worn away. He used it as a stepping stone and fled across the roof, jumping from one to another until at last he left his pursuers far behind. Finally, panting, he returned to the street level and stopped in the shade of a building to get his bearings and consider the situation. Using the rough stone wall, he worked the leather bindings loose and dropped them to the ground.

It was only then he took time to wonder, _What happened to me?_ He didn't have the answer, he knew, not yet at least. The power that had exploded from him with the force of his anger had been frightening, but also…exhilarating. He wanted it back.

He rested for a few more minutes in the shade of the building, then set off through the city, keeping a sharp eye out both for Odji and for somewhere where he could begin to accumulate the things he would need to survive.

Unknown to Seth, a pair of curious eyes watched him as he trudged through the streets, and a small smirk flitted across the watcher's face.


	2. Chapter 2

Prince Atem lounged against the railing of his balcony, staring off across the city. His crimson eyes were slightly vague, as though he wasn't really seeing the buildings and streets below him, but something else, something intangible.

"A bronze coin for your thoughts?"

Atem turned from the balcony. Shimon, Pharaoh's old adviser and tutor to the young prince, was standing in the doorway. He carried several papyrus scrolls, a pot filled with pigment, and a narrow brush. With a grunt, Shimon deposited the entire stack on the prince's desk, carefully placing the ink and brush away from the precious scrolls.

"Surely you can afford to pay more than that, Shimon," the prince teased. "My father has often said you're worth your weight in gold."

"My only wish is to serve Pharaoh," Shimon said serenely, though Atem could see the twinkle in his eyes. "Now, my prince, let us resume your studies."

Atem did not move from the balcony. "That's a lot of gold."

Shimon stepped forward and, grasping his charge by the elbow, led him to the desk. "If you weren't a prince, I'd put you over my knee and teach you some manners."

Atem smiled slightly. "How fortunate then that I happen to be a prince."

Shimon smiled too. "How fortunate." He picked a blank papyrus scroll and unrolled it. Folding his charge's unwilling fingers around the brush, he pointed to a blank space on the page. "Now then, let's see if you've improved on your spelling from last time."

Atem sighed and stared across his room towards the window. "Shimon, why do you torture me like this?" he asked. "When I am Pharaoh, I'll have priests and scribes to do my writing for me."

Shimon glared. "Your father has charged me with educating his son to the best of my ability. Now, write for me the names of the three previous Pharaohs."

With a martyred sigh, Atem dipped the brush into the pot of pigment and began to scrawl across the papyrus scroll. He muttered to himself as he sounded out the difficult names, and finally shoved the completed paper across the desk towards Shimon.

Shimon picked it up and squinted at it. He brought the papyrus closer to his nose, then held it at arm's length, as though trying to make sense of the blotches and inky smudges that crisscrossed the page seemingly at random. Finally, he laid the papyrus down.

"Perhaps the idea of getting you a scribe is a good one," he said. "I will take it up with Pharaoh."

Any hopes Atem might have had for getting away from further torment vanished as Shimon continued. "Instead of working on your spelling, we will begin on the _history_ of the past three Pharaohs," he said. "Perhaps seeing their names written enough times will be enough to prod your memory."

Atem sighed and bent his tri-colored head over a new papyrus scroll. With Shimon watching over his shoulder, he struggled through the history, wondering idly if his teacher would be angry if he just threw himself off the balcony now and saved himself the trouble.

* * *

Seth stood idly in a dingy alley and watched as one of the many street urchins that overran the capital attempted to pick a merchant's pocket. Seth had already spotted the flaw in the child's technique: he was trying to pluck the purse from the merchant's belt, fiddling with the thongs that tied it in place, rather than simply slitting the fabric and settling for a share of the contents. Any moment now, the boy would be caught.

In the two weeks since coming to the capital, Seth's appearance had not improved. He had tried to stay clean, but it simply wasn't possible on the dusty streets and on bare rooftops. His thin face was gaunt now from hunger and hardship, and his eyes were sunken, his entire body made up of edges and angles. Beneath his tunic, his ribs were faintly visible, and his bare feet were calloused and also caked with dust. At this point, Seth resembled little more than a skeleton, blue eyes glowing strangely in the sun-tanned face.

The merchant whose purse the other boy was currently trying to pick had finally noticed the boy's efforts. In a flash, he seized the urchin's wrist. A few people turned to look, but as Seth thought bitterly, no one cared enough to intervene. The merchant reached into his belt for a whip, threw the boy to the ground, and raised the weapon to strike.

Seth was suddenly moving, though he had made no conscious decision to do so. He reached inside himself for that strange power he had felt only once before in his encounter with Odji. It responded, wild and uncontrollable, springing forth with almost savage glee. The whip, coming down for another blow, twisted in midair and wound itself around the merchant's throat. He gasped, his fingers flying up, desperately trying to free himself. He could not force even one finger under the leather. Instantly, people from all around ran to his side and tried to help him. But it was no use. His face was quickly turning blue.

Seth shrank back into the shadows, frightened by the enormity of what he had done. He tried to call the power back, but it was running wild. The boy on the ground took off, limping through the streets away from the struggling merchant. Seth didn't spare him another thought. He was too busy trying to rein in the magic that was even now drawing the lash of the whip still tighter around the merchant's throat.

It felt like dragging a heavy wagon through mud. The magic drew back slowly. Too slowly. The merchant was choking, gasping, dying. Seth pulled harder. Reluctantly, the whip loosened its grip, and the man was able to inhale a short, frantic breath. Then, with a final shudder, the whip fell loosely to the ground.

Seth ran. He turned and sprinted down the alley, searching for a way that would lead up to the roof. If anyone had seen him, he would die for sure. What he had just done was far beyond a scratch. It was magic, and it had almost killed a man. He could hear the merchant behind him gasping out his story to the frightened crowds.

"I saw a boy. He was standing in the mouth of that alley!" Seth ran harder, finally gaining the roof. He raced across them, heading for his hidden sanctuary. He had made his home as high as he could reach, on the roof of a bronzesmith's house. The heat from the fire warmed him during the cool desert nights, and from there he could easily access any part of the city.

There was a young man waiting there when he reached it.

"That was quite the display of power just now," the young man said idly, looking up from rummaging through Seth's bedding as Seth approached. Seth stopped, staring at the intruder warily. There was food there and a few stray coins, and Seth was loathe to lose those without a fight. But something about the man's appearance screamed danger, and Seth knew that even the precious food was not worth his life.

The stranger was tall and thin with dark skin and silver eyes. Those eyes unnerved Seth; they looked as though dark shapes were moving in them, even when the young man himself was perfectly still. The man's face was half-hidden by a shock of bone-white hair, but Seth could see a distinctive scar that marred the right side. A dagger was sheathed at his waist.

"Don't worry," the man said casually, standing up. "I'm not here to hurt you. What's your name?"

Seth did not answer. He was scanning the rooftop around them, searching for a way to turn the situation to his advantage.

"You don't seem deaf," the man said sweetly. "Are you stupid?"

Seth's eyes jerked back to him. "No!"

"Good," the young man said. "A weight off my mind." He grinned, his teeth seeming unnaturally sharp. "Then let's try again, shall we? What's your name?"

"Seth," the boy answered reluctantly. "What's yours?" he added, throwing the words out like a challenge.

The stranger's grin only widened. "You may call me Bakura."

"Why are you here?" Seth said for something to say while he got his bearings. The name Bakura seemed familiar. Seth was almost certain he had heard it whispered in one of the more notorious back-alleys of the capital. But then again, so much was whispered into wine cups and listening ears that it was easy to get it confused.

"I saw what you did to that merchant. I decided to drop in and pay my respects."

Seth suddenly remembered where he had heard the name. Bakura, also known as the Thief King. Seth felt a slow burn growing in his chest. Thieves like the ones Bakura led had destroyed his village and slaughtered his people. But he had also heard how dangerous Bakura was, and forced himself to keep his tone even.

"I doubt very much that someone of your standing would simply drop in to pay your respects," he said.

Bakura smirked. "Smart boy. Actually, I wanted to see if you were interested in joining me."

Seth's temper flared. "I'd never join a thief and a murderer!"

The Thief King laughed. "So certain!" Something hard and ugly crept into his eyes. "The world's not black and white, boy. There's not good or evil, right or wrong. There's only what you have and what you want to gain."

"And what do I gain if I say yes?" Seth asked. He tried not to let the fear show on his face, but it was becoming difficult to ignore. Suddenly, he felt his feet leaving the ground. The air around him grew cold. Dark shapes twisted around his body, holding him fast. He struggled futilely.

Bakura approached at a casual pace. "You have strength, but you lack control. Any real Shadowmancer could tear you apart." He studied Seth. "I could teach you, give you _true_ power. Better than strangling merchants in the public square."

He made a dismissive gesture, and the bonds holding Seth disappeared. Seth fell to the roof and was forced to roll to lessen the impact. He came to his feet immediately, gaze never leaving Bakura.

"Unless of course you're content where you are." There was an odd undercurrent in that mocking tone, one that Seth could not immediately identify.

Part of him burned at the Thief's presumption. Part of him wanted to say yes. The offer was strangely tempting. A chance to harness the magic… "Can I have some time to consider it?" he said carefully. He desperately wanted some time to think. The magic was there, just beyond his reach, and here perhaps was a way to grasp it. But what would he have to become?

Bakura shrugged carelessly. "Of course. But don't wait too long. Pharaoh doesn't tolerate the existence of Shadowmancers who don't work for him." His silver eyes narrowed. "And there are worse things than intolerance." Then, in a movement so smooth and quick that Seth could barely follow it, he dropped from the roof and out of sight.

Only when Seth was sure he was gone did he let out the breath he had been holding. The shaking took a moment to subside. Seth took a deep breath, then walked across to his bundle of possessions and began to sort through them. Surprisingly, all were still in place. There was no sign that anyone had been there at all.

The first thing he needed to do, Seth realized, was to find another place to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

"I will not have the guards just go into the market and randomly select a servant for me," the prince said stubbornly. "I don't want someone just snatched off the street."

"It is just a servant," Nkosi, one of Pharaoh's priests, pointed out. "Any man, woman, and child would be honored to serve you. And if they displease you, they can simply be punished or replaced."

Atem folded his arms. "I desire a companion, not a slave. I want someone my own age!"

"That can be arranged," Baruti, another priest, said soothingly. "There is no need for you to visit the city in person."

Atem fixed him with a piercing stare. He knew the effect was magnified by the peculiar color of his eyes.

Ramla laughed. The Millennium Necklace glimmered around her throat. "I think you could more easily persuade the waters of the Nile to change to gold than change the prince's mind, Baruti." She shook her head, still smiling. "I have never met anyone so stubborn."

Atem favored her with a glowing smile, then turned with a pleading expression to his father. "Father?"

Pharaoh Aknankamon frowned, considering. "I fear you will be disappointed in your desire, Atem. Peasants, or even merchants' sons, cannot be proper companions for a child of royal blood."

Atem straightened his shoulders. His head lifted to a regal tilt, his crimson eyes burned with determination. "You told me once, Father, that a king must know his own people if he is to rule them. How can I get to know them if I am constantly kept separate? And if I am to be Pharaoh someday, surely I can select my own companion?"

Pharaoh nodded once in approval. His son was becoming a man indeed. "Very well, but you must take a full guard with you." He gestured to the right. "Shimon will accompany you as well." The advisor stepped forward.

Atem smiled at the kindly old man, but inwardly his heart was sinking. What he had said was true: he _did _want to get to know the people he would one day rule. He was also perceptive enough to realize that that would be impossible surrounded by guards and under constant vigilance by Shimon.

But he also knew that this was the most he would get from his father now, so he simply bowed and left the room.

First things first. Get to the city.

* * *

"It still refuses to choose."

Aknankamon stared at his brother, whose eyes were fixed firmly on the golden glimmer of the Millennium Rod. The one-eyed priest continued. "As long as it remains un-bonded, the powers of the others are reduced."

"What can we do?" Pharaoh asked.

Aknadin shrugged. "Very little is known about the Millennium Items. But it is clear that this one has a will of its own. It will allow no one to wield it save the one _it _chooses."

Aknankamon winced. The last man who had attempted to use the Rod had been shredded by its power, his insides melting, his bones crunching as they splintered, the skin bubbling and popping. His screaming had so traumatized some of the servants that Pharaoh was forced to dismiss them. One of the guards who had witnessed the event had shortly thereafter committed suicide.

The memory hurt. The priest who had died, Chibale, had been a close personal friend of Pharaoh. His loss had been sincerely mourned. Since then, the Millennium Rod had been kept in a kind of solitary confinement, locked away in a room protected by powerful wards.

"So we wait?" he asked grimly.

"We wait."

* * *

As prince of Egypt and sole heir to the throne, Atem received the respect, if not always the adulation, of the entire populace. People knelt before him as his guards carried him through the streets, vendors gave him free samples of their sweetest pastries, their finest bolts of cloth, their most delicate wares. The streets were swept and cleared when he rode through the city, and women threw fragrant flowers before him and begged for his blessing on their children.

As just another scrawny peasant's brat on the street, his telltale hair hidden by a hood and his princely garments replaced by servant's clothes, Atem found the city quite different. No one made way for him, merchants cuffed him sharply if he strayed too close to their booths, and twice he was nearly knocked from his feet as some careless passerby shoved him unceremoniously aside. The street was filled with dust and muck, and his thin sandals – another part of his disguise – were soon caked with both. Instead of the hushed streets that usually awaited him, they were almost deafeningly loud, filled with the raucous laughter and heated conversations of thousands of people. The smell was not one of flowers. Atem wandered almost at random along the road, drinking it all in.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm and a man leaned in. The sickly smell of him made Atem gag. It reminded him somewhat of the wine Baruti liked to drink with dinner, but...wrong, sour. "What's beneath the hood?" he growled. "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing." He shot the man a cold glare under the hood and tried to pull away, but the man caught the hood with one hand and made to toss it back. It snagged for a moment on the prince's wild head of hair, and in that moment, Atem made a decision. His magic rose. The hood fell back.

The man released him, looking disappointed. "Nothing but an ordinary peasant," he grumbled. "Why are you bundled up so in this heat?"

Privately, Atem breathed a sigh of relief. Glamours were notoriously difficult. "Do you treat everyone this way?" he demanded. "Don't you..." _Don't you know who I am?_ "Don't you have any manners?"

The man bristled. "I won't stand for that from you!" He lunged, but his movement was slow and clumsy. Atem easily avoided it. The man swore - a vile curse - and turned. This time, Atem stood his ground, head lifted. This man _dared_ to confront him?

_If you kill him_, a voice whispered in his head_, you will have to reveal who you are._

At the last second, he slipped to the side. The man stumbled. By the time he righted himself, Atem had disappeared into the crowd.

He wasn't sure at what point he became aware he was being followed.

But he was. Two boys, dressed in ragged street clothes like himself, filthy, gaunt, and barefoot, trailed along not far behind. And they were steadily gaining.

Atem looked around. Another boy was hurrying towards him from the left, crowding him towards the side of the road. Atem sped up; they did as well. His legs were shorter than theirs. Outrunning them was probably not an option. Nor was it an option he desired. His anger at being ill-treated all morning rose. _One problem_, the voice in his head - the logical part of him perhaps - said coolly. _You don't know anything about streetfighting. What are you going to do? Kill them with magic in the open street?_ _You will be revealed._

_No_t _if I don't face them on the street. _There was an alley on the right. Atem veered into it. The three boys followed, wide smiles spreading across their faces at the thought that they had trapped their prey. A few steps in, Atem turned, legs planted firmly, and waited.

They advanced slowly, perhaps balked by his apparent lack of fear. They stood there for a moment or two, sizing each other up. The taller boy, who had a wicked scar across his nose and cheek, spoke first.

"The new boy thinks he can pass through our territory without paying a toll," he said, then laughed. "Do you know what we did to the last new boy who didn't pay the toll?"

A part of Atem grieved at the thought of these boys' deaths. But as heir to the throne, his honor would not allow him to give in.

"Something crude and uneducated, I presume," he said dismissively. "You clearly lack the intelligence to do much better."

The leader's face went dark with anger and he stalked forward, his cronies at his side. Atem held his ground. When they were only a few feet away, he called the Shadows.

But an instant before he could release them on his attackers, a sharp pain erupted on the back of his head and stars danced before his eyes. His hold on the Shadows fled and his knees buckled. He struck the ground face-first, unable to bring up his hands in time to stop his fall.

_Ra, there are more of them._

A rough hand grabbed at his arms and hauled him to his feet. A fist impacted in his gut, and he doubled over with a groan, saved from falling again by the boy holding him from behind. He desperately tried to reach his magic through the pain and nausea, but it was like trying to catch hold of a cloud.

"You dare talk back to us?" Scarface demanded, hitting him again, harder. Atem retched emptily. "We'll leave your body for the dogs!"

"Leave him alone."

The three boys in front of Atem whirled around, and the one behind him tensed. Atem tried to focus on the newcomer, but the sun was at the other boy's back and his face was still in shadow. But he did hear all four's startled intake of breath.

"Seth," Scarface muttered.

The new boy took a few steps forward, and Atem was finally able to make out his face. The boy's face was gaunt with starvation, and like the others, his clothes were little more than rags. But there was an indefinable _something _that set him apart from the others, some kind of inner nobility or poise that made him seem as different from them as the Pharaoh was from the lowest of his slaves.

"This doesn't concern you," Scarface called out as Seth took another step towards the group. "Walk away."

Seth did not reply, only took a few steps closer. The boy holding Atem shifted uneasily, and the prince heard one of the others mutter, "I don't like this, Ryuk. You saw what he did to Odji…"

"Shut up!" Ryuk snapped. "There are four of us and only one of him."

Another stunning blow to the back of Atem's head sent him reeling to his knees as the boy released him and roughly shoved him aside. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

* * *

Seth didn't bother to wince as the other boy collapsed. If the idiot lived through this, he should be happy with nothing but a few bruises. There were four of them, as Ryuk had so cleverly pointed out. Unfortunately, as he had also pointed out, there was only one of Seth.

_All in all, not the best odds._

Then they all drew knives.

Part of him, the part dedicated to his survival, told him he should run. There was no reason to risk his life for a total stranger. But something made him stay. Perhaps it was the memory of his mother's voice, scolding him for mocking one of the weaker boys in the village and reminding him of the value of compassion.

The first boy charged and lifted his blade in an overhand strike. Seth dodged and drove his elbow as hard as he could into the boy's solar plexus. The boy collapsed with an _oof_! and Seth kicked him in the head on the way down. His attacker groaned and was out cold. But Seth had no time to celebrate, because the others weren't as stupid as the first. They spread out to cut off his retreat, driving him towards a wall, making short feinting jabs to keep him at bay. Seth dodged a blow aimed at his ribs and cursed. He remembered the merchant choking as the whip tightened around his throat, and he remembered the horror of the magic running wild, unable to draw it back. He hesitated.

But there wasn't much time for reflection. The three boys had nearly driven him up against the wall. Their victim had still not moved, and if he didn't wake up soon, it was unlikely that he ever would.

_And after all this effort, that would be…irritating._

He made a decision. The magic was already churning inside him, held back by only the most slender of threads. All he had to do was let it go.

It was as though the sun had disappeared. It grew dark, and very, very cold. The boys screamed in fear and pain as they were scooped off their feet and thrown with bone-breaking force into the wall. Seth barely heard them; he was already trying to rein the magic back.

He felt his control breaking an instant before it happened. With savage glee, the magic leapt across the intervening space. It burrowed into the motionless bodies of Seth's attackers, tearing the skin and exposing bone.


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter is dedicated to Akirys, who took the time to review each chapter - that really makes an author's day! - and to LightandShadow, who gave the most detailed review, including a prediction of what would happen. I hope this chapter does not disappoint.**

* * *

Atem raised his head dizzily off the ground. At first he thought that he was dreaming; it was pitch black and impossibly cold for an Egyptian afternoon. Then his groggy mind snapped into focus, and he understood. Shadow Magic. A lot of it.

He struggled to bring the world into focus. At the end of the alley, backed against a wall, he could see the strange boy who had come to his rescue. His blue eyes were wide and terrified and his hand was raised in supplication.

Horror, stronger than the dizziness, infused Atem. The Shadows were all around him, trying to leech off his life force or invade his body. His Shadow Wards were fending them off. But that was not what horrified Atem; he had felt much the same thing dozens of times in his own trips to the Shadow Realm. No, what was terrifying now was that these Shadows were out of control.

He tried to get to his feet and failed; his head was swimming too much for even adrenaline or fear to overcome. _Think! Think! _Blearily, he touched the back of his head and his fingers came away wet with blood.

Blood.

He stretched out his bloody fingers and called to the Shadows. That much was easy. Attracted by the blood, they swarmed toward him, abandoning the bodies on the ground. Hopefully, the summoner would use their distraction to get rid of them.

* * *

It felt like the magic had suddenly turned its attention away from him. Its resistance abruptly weakened, and it abandoned the bodies of Ryuk and his group. Instead, arcs of magic sprang at the gang's would-be victim, who had managed to blearily lift his head, his fingers outstretched towards Seth. Seth cursed. _Idiot! _With all his might, he fought for control.

Even with the Shadows distracted by the lure of blood, it was almost an impossible task. Slowly, however, the day grew warm again and the sun returned. Seth slumped exhausted against a wall. He sat there for a moment, panting, before he risked a glance at the would-be victim. The other boy was unconscious again. Probably he had passed out before he had properly registered the magic, or at least before he had identified Seth as the source. Seth breathed a sigh of relief. _Thank the gods for small mercies._

He had to steel himself before he could look at Ryuk and his gang. They were definitely dead. No one could survive with such devastating injuries. He could already hear people approaching, attracted by the noise. With great effort, he managed to drag the three attackers into a heap of refuse in the shadows lining the alley. Then he heard a groan.

There had been four, not three, who had attacked him. The first had been downed by the blow to the solar plexus and the kick to the head. He had been out of the way when the magic had responded, and therefore had avoided the same fate as his fellows. He was stirring now.

Seth hesitated, then picked up one of the knives his attackers had dropped. He walked to the waking boy's side and stood over him, holding the knife. This boy was a witness. He'd tell the guards, and Seth would be hunted down. One quick blow: that's all it would take. His fingers tightened on the knife…and then let it fall.

"Go," he said. "Go quickly."

The boy scrambled to his feet and did as he was told. In moments, he had disappeared into the busy street.

Seth watched him go, belatedly wondering if he should have tried to elicit a promise not to tell anyone what had happened. Then he gave it up for lost. Either the boy would already be too terrified to say a word, or, more likely, nothing on earth would be able to stop him from telling every boy in the city before the sun was down.

Without a word, Seth moved to the would-be victim's side and lifted him up onto his shoulders. He had to try twice, because by now his legs were shaking uncontrollably and his body felt cold and weak. But finally, with a great deal of effort, he managed to lift the other boy up. Staggering under the weight, he slipped into the door of an abandoned building and carried his burden up the stairs and onto the roof. From this vantage point, he would be able to see any people approaching and wait in relative safety for the boy to wake up. But until they could move on, Seth would be antsy; they were still too close to the scene of the fight.

Trying to control his restlessness, he settled down to wait.

* * *

"My king?"

Pharaoh looked up. Ramla looked as elegant and calm as usual, but Aknankamon knew her well enough to see the hint of worry in her eyes. Cautiously, he reached out with his magic. He knew the petty ambassador he was talking with wouldn't be able to detect it.

**_What's wrong?_**

**_It's the prince._**

Pharaoh fought back a surge of incredibly un-kingly panic. Those words never boded well, with Atem's mischievous nature and his gift for magic.

"Ambassador," he said, interrupting whatever the man was saying. "My apologies, but might we continue this tomorrow?"

He felt the man's affront, but it was quickly hid under a smile. "Of course, Great Pharaoh." He bowed stiffly and departed.

The instant the man was gone, Ramla came forward. Aknankamon rose from his throne and met her halfway.

"What have you Seen?"

"Nothing, my king," she said. "That is what worries me. Shimon came to me because he could not find the prince for his lessons..."

"And he did not want to spend hours searching for Atem when he does not want to be found."

An answering smile ghosted across his face. "Precisely. I reached out with the magic of the Necklace. But when I tried to find him, my king, I saw only the face of a peasant boy in the city."

The Necklace honed in on the life force of a person, not the physical appearance of a person. Ramla had also spent enough time scrying after Atem that she would not mistake his life force for that of anyone else. Which meant...

"A Glamour."

"That's difficult magic."

Pharaoh sighed. "My son has always excelled at sorcery." _Would that he also excelled at self-control. _"Where in the city?"

"Perhaps an_ iteru*_ from the palace, though I did not see exactly where. I will Search immediately."

"No need." Aknankamon reached out for the Shadows. They came instantly at his command. With a slight effort of will, he sent them out again, this time in search of his son. He saw through their "eyes" as they swept out over the city. Soon enough, he felt the familiar life-force. He opened his eyes to see Ramla just opening hers. She had used her Necklace to follow him.

Before he even had to ask, she said, "I will take care of it, my king," and departed.

* * *

Right as Seth was about to conclude that the other boy would never wake, his head too severely damaged by the blow, the idiot woke up. He immediately tried to sit up, then fell back.

"Wheh..." he groaned.

"On the rooftop above the alley."

At the sound of his voice, the other boy sat up abruptly, wincing, but glaring at Seth. "Who are you?" he demanded. Though slightly slurred it was clearly a demand.

"The one who saved your life," Seth said. "You might try to be a bit more grateful."

He saw the other boy trying to work through this. His eyes weren't quite focusing, and he clearly had a headache. "Seth."

"Yes."

Another pause. "The other boys. The ones who attacked me. Where..."

"Fled," Seth said shortly. It rhymed with dead.

A look of disappointment flashed across the other boy's face. "Pity."

There was a slightly awkward silence. Then, quietly, the boy added, "My head hurts."

"Deal with it," Seth said ruthlessly. He thought he saw a glimmer of surprise and then fury in the other boy's eyes, but ignored it. "You're lucky to be alive at all. What is your name?

The boy was just about to respond angrily when they heard voices coming from the alley. With what looked like tremendous effort, he rolled over onto his stomach and crawled with Seth to the edge of the roof. They both peered down.

Two men with the spears, swords, and shields of the pharaoh's soldiers had entered the alley below. Had someone reported the disturbance? Seth had not expected the surviving boy to tell his story to _soldiers_. Their words were too quiet to be heard distinctly, but one of them pointed at the bloodstains in the dirt and - oh gods - on the walls. They seemed reluctant to advance any further.

Seth and the other boy lay very still. If the soldiers came up here, there wasn't anywhere to run to. But after a few minutes, both men departed. From their pace, they were glad to be gone.

"Kosey."

Seth turned towards him. "What?"

"Kosey," the boy repeated reluctantly. He squeezed his eyes shut, lifting his hands to cradle his head. "Call me Kosey."

"Lion?" Seth asked incredulously.

Was that a flush? "It's because...it's because of my...uh...my hair."

Seth looked at the feature in question, which was a very ordinary black. "I see."

The boy glared. "I can't stay here." He began to stagger to his feet. "People will be looking for m...for us."

That much they could agree on. The two guards from earlier might not have wanted to come into the alley, but they might bring reinforcements. Numbers would give them the courage to investigate. Seth rose to his feet and watched with some concern as Kosey tottered towards the stairs which led down from the roof. Then, abruptly, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

The creature was round, its coat roughly the color of Seth's hair. Its four green, scaly legs ended in wicked-looking claws. These it used to grip the roof. Most eerie of all, however, were its three gleaming, yellow eyes. Seth barely noticed. He was too busy trying to block out the strange shrieking noise that filled his head. His magic bucked and twisted.

Beside him, Kosey cursed. He made a slashing movement with his hand, and a bolt of something dark leapt from his fingers towards the monster. The missile struck it. But it was only a graze, not a serious wound. Yelping in anger, the thing jumped backwards off the roof and disappeared.

Seth stared at the other boy. He'd felt a burst of cold when the bolt had left Kosey's finger, exactly like the cold he felt when his own magic reacted. But Kosey hadn't looked like he was struggling to control it; in fact, there was something almost off-handed about its use.

"How did you do that?"

* * *

No sooner had the bolt of Shadows left his fingers than Atem regretted it. The attack had been instinctive. His head spun, and for a moment, the roof was just a blur of colors. It steadied, but Atem could feel his body still trying to rebel.

"How did you do that?" Seth demanded. The look in his eyes didn't look like the fear . It looked more like...excitement.

In that moment, Atem could not come up with a believable lie. His head was pounding steadily, and he still could not open his eyes all the way without feeling the light like stabbing knives. "It doesn't matter," he said thickly. "It'll be back. I have to go."

But Seth caught his arm. "Who are you?" he said. "No one...I've never...how can you have the magic? How can you control it?"

"Let go of me."

"Not until you answer my questions."

Furious, Atem leveled his best glare at him - how _dare_ Seth keep him here against his will? But Seth didn't flinch. Furiously, Atem reached for the Shadows - _I will _make_ him let go _- only to come up dry. That pulled him up short. _What?_ A quick survey of his power reserves gave him the answer.

_Oh. I'm still holding the Glamour_.

His anger faded a bit. Seth thought he was just talking to another peasant. Of course he wouldn't speak like that to Atem if he knew. Sure that he had discovered the problem, Atem reached in and unhooked his magic.

* * *

The skin beneath Seth's fingers suddenly grew cold, and he let go from sheer surprise. Kosey's face rippled. The skin lightened, and the black hair shot up straight as though shot by lightning. Strands turned black, others gold. The boy took a deep breath, then lifted his head to regard Seth with eyes the color of blood.

For a moment, Seth just stared. _The prince_! "How did you do that?" he said again, eyes wide. Again, he'd felt the cold, but this was far beyond anything his own magic could...Then, abruptly, he remembered who he was and who he was talking to. Instantly, he dropped to his knees. "I'm..." Gods, the boy in front of him could have him executed. He cleared his throat miserably. "I'm sorry, my lord. I...I didn't know."

For a moment, he thought he saw disappointment in the prince's eyes. Then, after a moment, the other boy nodded regally. "You did not know."

The door which led up from the building slammed open. Seth, still on his knees, leapt to his feet as soldiers poured through the gap. He tensed, ready to run, but a pair of soldiers pointed their spear tips at his throat. Slowly, hands in the air, he sank back to his knees.

The prince paid him no attention. He was too busy staring at the stairs. The soldiers not guarding Seth had formed up in two straight lines, almost like a corridor. Advancing down this corridor was a tall woman clad in cream-colored robes. Gold adorned her wrists and hair. But though he had never seen any woman so beautiful before, Seth could not take his eyes from the golden necklace around her throat. It was carved in a shape he recognized as an eye of Horus, and his ears hummed uncomfortably as he looked at it.

Her attention, however, was not on him. "My prince," she said, and although she did not look angry, the prince shrank as though expecting a blow. "What are you doing here?"

"I...I wanted to see the city, and I..." He trailed off. "Um..."

The woman waited a moment, and when it was clear that the prince would not say anything else, she said, still softly, "Why did you attack Sangan when he came to find you?

"Instinct," the prince said miserably. "I'm sorry, Ramla, I..."

"Enough," she said, the first edge of sharpness in her voice. "It is time for us to return to the palace." For the first time, her eyes turned towards Seth. He shrank, completely understanding the prince's reaction for the first time. "And who is this?"

Now that her eyes were not fixed on him, the prince seemed to recover a little. "His name is Seth," he said, drawing himself up. "He...he saved my life."

Her eyes flicked back to him, and he winced. But she merely said, "Did he? The pharaoh would be glad to hear such a tale. Will you come with us to the palace, Seth?"

"Am I allowed to refuse?" he asked, then bit his lip and hastily dropped his head.

She laughed. "I think it would be best if you did not."

He swallowed. "Then...then lead the way. My lady."

* * *

Ramla stared at the strange boy as he followed the prince and soldiers from the rooftop. Something about him was familiar, though she knew she could not have seen the boy in person. The Millennium Necklace hummed slightly as he passed.

Who was he?

She had just put her first foot on the stairs when the Necklace pulsed again, and suddenly she was in a vision.

_A young man stood on the rooftop of the palace, face turned away. He wore the robes of a High Priest, and his hair was hidden in an elaborate headdress. A dragon twined around him, scales sparkling in the sun. There was another brighter gleam from the belt around his waist._ Ramla shifted so that she could see it better and caught her breath.

_It was the Millennium Rod._

"Lady Ramla?" one of the soldiers asked in concern.

Ramla opened her eyes and looked around. She was back on the dim set of stairs in the abandoned building. Below her, Seth stared at her, eyes wide. Why had she had this vision now? Was that young man this same young boy?

"I am well," Ramla managed. "Let us continue to the palace." _I have much to recount._

* * *

**Author's Note: An iteru is roughly six and a half miles. Thebes was approximately thirty-six square miles in total.**


End file.
